Phone Calls
by SpellboundWriter
Summary: You hate thinking about that boy, the boy with the perilous scar that makes him famous. But he plagues your mind..."


AN: Hi again! Quick disclaimer, JKR owns hold to all the property of Harry Potter. I'm kind of in a writing slump on my other stories right now and this one popped out.

It's in 2nd person point of view, hopefully that doesn't throw too many people off. Also, this wasn't originally written for fan fiction. In fact, this really isn't fiction at all. It is completely based off of something that actually happened and if you ever want to read the actual descriptions and the actual writing, just send me a message or two.

READ ON AND REVIEW

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You hate lying on your bed when its after 8 oclock. After all, only those too lazy to start a day slept late during the summer, and you hated being referred to as one of them. But it was cold in your house and you weren't in the mood to go downstairs.  
You hadn't changed yet; your light green shirt clung funny around your middle and the shorts you had thrown on when you had woken up were just a tad too large. The locks of your bright auburn hair were tangled amongst themselves and your brown eyes were drowned in sleep. Afterall, you didnt even want to wake up today.  
You suppose that the trouble had started after the split. It was the most logical...even if you didn't have a reason behind it in the first place. You always blamed commitment. No, he had never suggested or even hinted at anything beyond a high-school relationship, but you dreamed it. Maybe that had scared you. Or maybe it was just that your a vulnerable girl who knows nothing about falling in love.  
You are tired of your mother yelling at you. She says that 16 year old girls shouldnt be so depressed. They shouldnt sulk in their rooms at all hours of the morning or stay up late at night crying. But what would she know...its been years since she was you.  
The ring of the fellytone (a gift from your father when you turned 16) erupts you from your stupor and you brush tears away that you hadn't even known had erupted. You answer with a shaky hello that your sure will tell anyone on the other line just what was up with you at 8 in the morning in the middle of summer.  
"Do you love me?" The voice on the other line asks and you frown. Was this someone you knew? You ask who it is but they ignore you and continue to press the question, their voice distinctly male and very familiar. Your tears are gone, replaced by confusion, as you pad across your room barefooted.  
"Do you love me?" They ask again. What the hell would it hurt to say yes? You know you love people and maybe just deterring them would make the situation less...weird. So you mutter a shaky yes as you move towards your bed again, but they surprise you by a long awkward silence and then a muffled,

"Open your door." You look at the phone. You don't know why those words sound so familiar, but you take the steps two at a time and grasp the door knob. This is it. You could hang up and pretend this odd person never called and keep the door shut, or you could just open it and get it over with. Afterall, opening doors and talking to weird people were much more interesting than sulking in your room.  
You pull the door open and he's there...his long fingers that you loved to hold wrapped around a cellular, staring at you as if your the only thing in his world. You whisper "I'll call you back" into the phone and allow it to fall to your side, uncaring if it breaks or not.  
He hasn't changed. You aren't sure why you thought he would...it had only been a week or less. His eyes are still the perilous emerald green color you never can quite describe, caked in something you cant recognize as he looks you over. His hair, an ebony color darker than the nearest raven, catches your eye as you absentmindedly reach up and run your hand across it. You don't know what got over you to make you do that...but it felt nice. It felt normal.  
His breath was hot on the bridge of your nose as you stood in front of him. The door was open behind you, leaning into your back painfully but you don't care, its him...its the only person you've thought of the last few days.   
Your mother had warned you that love was a tricky thing. That you could fall in love once and be trapped for ever if things went wrong. That it could break your heart in an instant. But now...standing in front of him...your mothers words were the last thing on your mind. Countless days of crying had brought you to this moment, and you weren't allowed to let it pass by.  
"I meant what I said" you whisper lightly, allowing your fingers to reach behind him and clasp yourself around his waist, "I love you"  
And maybe a hug wouldn't be good enough for anyone else. Maybe a kiss would have been more appropriate...more sentimental...more romantic...but a hug...with his head resting on yours as it was and his heart pressing against yours…  
It was worth the wait. 


End file.
